The venue was a converted building in the Upper East Side that had been a bank in a previous life and still carried the architecture of that — high ceilings, stone columns, the grandeur of a space built to communicate permanence.
Someone had dressed it for the evening with long tables, candlelight, and floral arrangements that cost more individually than Ryan's first month of rent.
He arrived at seven, which was the time on the invitation, and immediately established that arriving at the time on the invitation meant arriving before most people who actually belonged here.
The early crowd was staff and photographers and a handful of guests who, like Ryan, had taken the time literally.
He checked his coat, took a glass from a passing tray, and looked at the room.
Black tie meant something different depending on your tax bracket. At the lower end it meant a suit you'd bought for the occasion and shoes that were slightly too new.
